Slow Ride
by Coragyps
Summary: Castiel was planning to save Dean, but it's funny how often that situation gets reversed.  Dean/Cas SLASH.
1. Chapter 1

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**Slow Ride, **_Chapter One_

**Pairing: **Dean/Castiel. And the rating is for real – this is SLASH. Big Time. With a teeny bit of plot thrown in, like, as a garnish.**  
****Disclaimer: **Obviously I don't own Supernatural and I'm making no profit from this work of fanfiction. **Spoilers:** This is set sometime in an alternate reality version of early Season Five, specifically one with more man sex. So spoilers at least through Free to Be You and Me.  
**Summary:** Castiel had planned on saving Dean, but it's funny how often that situation gets reversed.

A/N: Title comes from the 1975 Foghorn classic from the album_ Fool for the City.  
_Seemed like something the Winchesters would like.

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"Damnit, Cas!"

Dean was turning him carefully onto his back, one hand on his arm and the other hovering uncertainly over his hip. "Jus' checking, no need to get excited," he muttered, his voice rumbling close to Cas' ear.

Castiel blinked. He wasn't particularly excited, was he? He would have asked for clarification, but Dean's hand closed unexpectedly around his upper thigh, gripping him tight and holding him down as Dean probed his knee with gruff, careful fingers.

A bolt of what felt like lightening rocketed outwards from the site of the injury, and Castiel convulsively kicked out with his other leg, an agonized gasp bursting from his lips until he resolutely clamped his jaw shut and turned his face away from Dean's low-pitched warnings; "Easy, Cas, Jesus, here we go, easy, damnit!"

There was a sickly, lurching sensation as the joint ground slowly back into place, and then Castiel was panting in frantic relief as the pain settled into something low and manageable. "There we go, good, good job, buddy." Cas watched in wonder as Dean used his own long-sleeve shirt to wrap the injured joint, holding everything tightly in place, and the pain receded even further. Immediately behind the relief came exhaustion, and Cas pressed his cheek against the ground and closed his eyes, taking thankful, damp breaths through the blades of grass.

"Anywhere else?" asked Dean, running his hands quickly over Cas' legs, then his arms, neck, a broad hand over the back of his head. "Anything hurt? Any blood coming out of you? No? Okay, c'mon, we gotta get inside."

Dean had been hunting down whatever had been killing children in the Vermont countryside. He was alone, since he and Sam had split up a few weeks earlier after yet another falling out. He was hoping they'd find a way to make it up to each other, but - what with the apocalypse bearing down on them and all - there really just weren't hours in the day.

As it turned out, the child sacrifices were the work of the demon Moloch, who had apparently escaped from hell in the recent ... upheavals. Castiel had realized the danger - Moloch was one of the ancient demons and Dean would be no match for him alone - and showed up only seconds before they were attacked. But as it turned out, Castiel wasn't much of a match either; the demon had swatted him away like a fly, sending him slamming down into the ground, hard.

Dean had managed to drive him off for the moment with Ruby's knife, but they had to get out of the open.

"On three, okay? One- Two – " Castiel felt himself being tugged upright, Dean's hands gripping the front of his shirt. Then one of his arms was lifted over Dean's head and around his shoulder, his wrist grabbed firmly to keep it in place. Dean's other arm snaked around his waist and he was hauled to his feet, clamped tightly to Dean's side so that he could keep the weight off his injured leg.

There was a crumbling wreck of a cabin about half a mile behind them, which Dean had been using as his base of operations. It was fully warded and maybe if they salted the windows they could hole up until they figured something out. "Let's go, Cas. Try to keep up."

Castiel leaned heavily, letting Dean keep him upright as they staggered together up the path. He was ridiculously thankful that Dean was bigger than his vessel, so he could support them both. His head drooped forward and he could feel the puff of warm, damp breath against his cheek when Dean looked down at him. "Jeez," Dean snorted, "You're looking pretty pathetic there, dude, for an angel."

They made it to the cabin and Dean started hauling him up the wooden stairs. Castiel remembered the sight of the threshold looming closer, and then his foot caught a step and the sickening pull that resulted sent him blissfully, whole-heartedly into darkness.

...

When he came to, Castiel found himself lying shirtless on a bare mattress, covered up to his waist with a cotton sheet. The air was dusty and the room was dark, but through the cracked window pane he could see faint light.

He felt pressure on his injured knee, and he fumbled for the edge of the sheet to peer underneath. He was wearing no pants, only Jimmy's boxer-briefs, and his left knee was wrapped in layers of gauze and propped up on a pillow. It ached dully, a low thrum. He turned his head at the sound of a door opening, and Dean came in, dragging his dufflebag behind him. "Hey, lookit you – finally woke up," said Dean, but Castiel thought that his voice sounded strained and rough. He was wearing his tattered undershirt and jeans, no shoes, and Castiel watched his bare feet move over the rough, dirty floor of the cabin with morbid fascination.

"What happened?" he asked.

"You passed out," said Dean. "I can't find that you hit your head, so maybe angels just aren't used to feeling pain."

"It's usually very – distant," Castiel agreed. "Now it is not."

"You dislocated your knee," said Dean.

"I dislocated Jimmy's knee," Castiel corrected flatly. "This vessel will heal."

"Good to know," said Dean. "But until then, you'd be better staying off of it. When you dislocate `em once, they're more likely to slip again." He knelt by the side of the mattress and pulled back the sheet to expose Castiel's injured leg, then rummaged in the duffel for a blue bag that Castiel recognized as an ice pack. Castiel watched wordlessly as Dean untucked the long end of gauze around his knee and unwrapped several layers. Then he broke open the ice pack and settled it over the joint, with the remaining gauze protecting the vessel's skin. Castiel felt it turn instantly cold as Dean wrapped the gauze back around the ice to hold it all in place, then settled the blanket back over the lump. "Keep that there," he warned; "it'll keep down the swelling."

"Thank you," said Castiel.

Dean tossed him a washcloth he had soaked in water from his canteen. "Here, dude," he said, "clean yourself up." Castiel looked down at Jimmy's body and found that it was streaked with dirt and sweat. Usually, both the body and the clothes he was wearing were kept immaculate, by his power. Any rents in his human form would heal themselves instantly. But now obviously there was no healing and no instant cleanliness. Awkwardly, he passed the cloth over Jimmy's stomach and down his arms, wiping away at the sweat. He could feel the coolness of the water against his skin, sharp and clear as it had never been before. Sensations were so much more distinct, he observed absently. "Your face," said Dean. Castiel was pretty sure there were tears mixed in with dirt on his cheeks. How strange.

"Here, get dressed," said Dean, handing him Jimmy's white undershirt and the crumpled white oxford. "No pants, sorry. You gotta rest that knee."

"Why am I undressed," Castiel wondered.

"Well, you freaking passed out," said Dean defensively. "I thought you must be hurt somewhere. But no, it turns out you're just a giant pussy. It figures, the one angel assigned to me's a fainter."

Somehow, Castiel could hear affection underneath the harsh words. Perhaps he was still able to read Dean's mind? That was an encouraging sign; he might have some powers left after all. "Moloch was much more powerful than I anticipated," he explained.

"Man, we gotta teach you some strategy," said Dean. "You threw yourself in there like a god-damned attack dog. You've got to learn how to fight with some other plan besides getting yourself killed." Castiel didn't have any comment to make about that – it was true. Angels didn't use strategy. They were implements of God's will and it didn't matter if they were destroyed in the effort. Of course, he thought bitterly, a real angel at full-power was almost impossible to destroy. "Seriously man," said Dean, "no more of this kamikaze shit."

"Look who's talking," said Castiel, hoping he was using the idiom correctly. From Dean's expression, it appeared he was.

Dean rolled his eyes as his gaze flicked unconsciously from the window, to the knife on top of the duffle. Somewhere beyond the wards of the cabin the demon was still out there, relentless and implacable, and until Castiel was well enough to move they were sitting ducks.

"Do not try to go up against the thing yourself," Castiel warned, knowing he might as well be reading Dean's mind. "I only require a little time to recover. Then I will be able to heal this vessel and banish Moloch."

"How much time," said Dean, narrowing his eyes. "You don't exactly look like you'll be fit for battle any time soon."

"I don't know for sure. Not long." Seeing Dean's skeptical expression, he tried to explain further; "The oldest demons, the most powerful - it's as though they carry Hell with them, wherever they go. My powers are affected as long as he is in the vicinity. That's why I was injured and why I'm a little low on charge. For a short time."

"So what, you're like, human-strength?"

"Of course not. Not exactly. Well the effects are similar, yes. Temporarily."

Dean blew out a breath. "Great." He rummaged around in the duffle bag, producing a half-empty bottle of soda and a foil packet that he tossed the bottle on the mattress next to Castiel. "Here."

"I don't require – nutrition," said Castiel blankly, watching Dean tear open the foil to extract what looked like a cracker.

"Dude, if your mojo is off enough that you can't even heal yourself, you should eat. At least drink something. Fluids, man. Gotta keep `em up, `s just like a car."

Dean and Castiel had never discussed the conditions of Castiel's fluctuating power capacity, so he took a sip of the soda without arguing, although he secretly didn't think he needed to. It was flat and overly sweet, but the taste of sugar was something he could probably get used to. He looked up again when Dean offered him one of the crackers.

"What is this?"

"It's a Pop Tart," said Dean. "Sorry, but I didn't exactly have time to pack angel food cake."

"This is food?"

"Well, Sam would say no, but it's cheap and it's easy to carry." Dean shrugged. "I eat `em."

Castiel nibbled thoughtfully at this – "_pop-tart_." It was very sweet and tasted mostly like flour. "You're supposed to heat them up," explained Dean, seeming faintly embarrassed, "but they're good cold too."

"I see."

"Sorry your first meal isn't more awesome," said Dean, rubbing the back of his neck. "You should have had, like, I dunno, steak or something."

Castiel finished about half of the cracker before he set the rest side. "This is what hunters eat," he said, sipping contentedly at his soda. "That's what I want to eat."

"At least we've got enough supplies to last a while, and there's a well out back if we run out of water."

"Do not attempt to leave the cabin," Castiel ordered. The wards around the house would only protect them within the four walls.

He watched Dean demolish the rest of the pop tarts, including his leftover half. He'd forgotten how much humans enjoyed their food. "I've probably got some candy left over from Halloween, if you want. It's been a while but candy doesn't go bad."

Castiel's stomach protested. "No, thank you."

"You sure? Your loss." Dean rummaged around in the bottom of the duffel and extracted a brightly-colored twist of paper that presumably contained an additional infusion of sucrose. "Ha, score!"

"Did you manage to save the child Moloch was planning to sacrifice?" asked Castiel, trying to take his mind off the unpleasant pressure in his midsection. At Dean's affirmative nod, he leaned forward in thought. "Then he will have to start the ritual over again. That will take time. He may be vulnerable."

"The other murders were spaced two days apart."

"It will take him at least that long to assemble the materials he requires. But he could come here and finish us off during that time. Even if he can't enter the cabin, he could stand outside and tear it down on us."

"I did something like that to a ghost once," said Dean, with his mouth full. "I guess this could be considered karma."

A sudden cramp made Castiel grunt, and he laid back slowly against the mattress.

"What's the matter with you?" Dean demanded, watching him. He leaned over and clamped a dry, callused palm over Castiel's forehead. Castiel blinked, unsure of how to best participate in this human ritual. After a moment, Dean sighed and pulled his hand away. Castiel stayed still in case he wanted to put it back again. "Man, I can't tell if you have a fever," Dean grumbled, "I got no idea how hot you're supposed to be."

Castiel didn't know either, but he found he liked to have Dean's hands on him and Dean's eyes on him. He didn't know why; it seemed to be a new feeling. He would have liked to ask Dean to explain it, but something told him it would be a bad idea.

Another cramp had him gritting his teeth.

"Dude, _what_?"

"My – stomach," said Castiel, grimacing and clenching his jaw with the unpleasant instinct that something might be about to crawl up out of it. "It feels – I don't know how to describe it –"

"It's fuckin' _flat __soda,_ man, no way it's making your stomach hurt," said Dean, capping the bottle and tossing it on the bed. He knocked Castiel's hand away and pushed him to lie flat against the mattress. "Here."

Dean's warm hand slipped up under Jimmy's oxford, making a pool of heat against his white undershirt. Castiel could feel the muscles of his abdomen clenching, and then releasing under the pressure. "You're too tense, dude, need to relax," said Dean. He rubbed a slow, careful circle and Castiel exhaled slowly in relief.

"It's working," he said in wonder.

"Yeah, well, I got experience with this," said Dean. "Sammy was a high-strung kid, go figure."

He left his hand long enough to melt away the squirmy feeling, then patted Castiel's shoulder and pushed himself up. The mention of his brother had shuttered his expression, but he managed a faint smile. "Okay, maybe not so much with the solid food," he said. "Live and learn."

Castiel decided it was wisest to keep still for a while longer. He closed his eyes and tried to capture all the sensory data that Jimmy's body was processing: the numbing cold of the icepack, the warmth of his feet under the sheet, the buzz of sugar entering the bloodstream. He listened to the sound of Dean moving around the room, the floorboards creaking under his weight. Castiel cracked one eye to watch him, backlit by the light of the window, absent-mindedly ejecting and then reloading the clip on his gun. He used the muzzle to push aside one of the faded linen curtains, glancing outside, and then, apparently satisfied, let the curtain slide back into place.

Gradually Castiel became aware of another new sensation – the feeling of Jimmy's cock slowly filling in his boxer shorts.

...

Dean completed a perimeter check and returned to his duffle bag, carefully extracting all the weapons he had packed. Not that most of them would be any use against a demon of Moloch's caliber – wasn't like he had the colt in there, after all – but he'd spent half his life learning to keep a well-maintained arsenal between himself and the darkness, and old habits died hard.

He spread his current collection on the mattress next to Castiel, pausing to reload the SIG he kept for its stopping power. Maybe this demon had a bit part in the Old Testament, but it was hard to launch a good attack with only half a skull. Then he turned his attention to the knives; several that were weighted for throwing, the one he usually kept in his boot, and the jewel of his collection, Ruby's cursed blade. He hated to carry anything of hers but there was an undeniable pleasure in the way it put a demon down.

Of course, he noted as he glanced over at Castiel, there were some creatures that even the knife wouldn't touch.

The angel in question was currently trying to push himself up off the mattress, wincing every time he jolted his injured knee. "Cut that out," Dean directed; "Quit moving or you'll make it worse."

"I need to get up." Castiel looked uncomfortable, and Dean hastily returned to the bed.

"You hurting? I got pills, if you think they'd work on you."

"No, I. Uh. That's not the problem," Castiel stuttered. "Actually, it appears that this vessel has - achieved an erection." He was staring between his legs as though it would bite him.

Dean groaned. "WOAH, dude, _way_ too much information!" He stood quickly with his hands up in front of his face, spinning around to face the door.

"Yes, I apologize," said Castiel, "I know this kind of thing isn't acceptable between fellow soldiers in your culture. I'll, uh, just ignore it."

"You do that," said Dean. There was a long pause. "Try thinking about baseball. Always works for me."

He wanted to leave the room but damnit, this was the most defensible spot in the cabin - the only place with clear sightlines to the surrounding woods. So instead he amused himself with the memory of Castiel's flustered face, which made him think of the night at the brothel. Good times. "I guess this is kind of a new experience for you, eh?"

"Yes," said Castiel, "I don't really know what to say. Obviously my control over this vessel has slipped due to our recent encounter with Moloch. It's, uh, it's not working."

"What's not working?"

"Baseball. Perhaps because I don't really follow human sports."

"Uh, try … Bobby in swim trunks."

A long pause. Then, apologetically; "I'm afraid angels don't really have much of an imagination …"

Dean huffed and turned around with his hand held exaggeratedly over his eyes. "Well then dude I think you're going to have to try plan B. I don't suppose you've ever heard of Rosie Palms?"

"You are referring to masturbation," said Castiel, sounding for all the world as if he was discussing a proceedure in a medical book.

"Uh, yeah, dude, that's what I'm referring to. Just, uh – you know – and I'll be in the hallway. For God's sake try to keep an eye on the windows, though, huh? We don't really need that demon to catch us with your hands down your pants."

Dean wheeled around to leave, but was stopped by Castiel's shy voice; "Dean."

"Dude, _what_?"

"I'm not really – I'm not sure what – to do."

Deep breath in. Count to ten. Let it out. "It's, uh, not really very complicated, buddy. Just, uh, take a firm hold and – go with what feels good." He should probably feel bad about teaching an angel to beat off, but he actually felt like he was being fairly awesome about this whole thing; it helped that he had been the one to teach little Sammy the whole 'no touching yourself in public' rule. This had eventually evolved into the 'dude, do that in the shower' rule, a rule that was in fact still in place today. Of course, the cabin didn't have a working shower, so that was a dead end.

Behind him he heard Castiel make a small noise, like a squeak, and Dean closed his eyes, thinking this was without question the weirdest, most awkward thing he had ever had to do. And he had done a _lot _of really weird and awkward things in his life. It was definitely time for him to head out to the hallway, but he found himself hanging around a moment longer ... it was like he was kind of _invested _in the whole thing now ...

"Dean?"

Calm, reasonable voice; "Yes, Cas?"

"It – feels weird."

"Yeah, buddy, that happens," said Dean, "Just go with it. Oh! - and use a sock or something, to - catch it, or you'll be stuck in wet shorts. Grab one of the white ones out of the duffel" _(Sorry, Sammy – _those were his socks).

The sound of fabric sliding over fabric. He _really couldn't believe he was still in the room_. "Okay?"

"Not remotely." Castiel sounded faintly out of breath and absolutely miserable. "I'm an angel of the lord. We aren't supposed to succumb to the pleasures of the flesh."

"You're putting too much thought into this, dude. All that guilt is just going to keep the little guy away from the big finish." Not that Dean was speaking from personal experience, or anything.

Silence.

"It's not working," said Castiel. "I don't think I'm doing this right."

Dean knuckled his forehead and hissed out a breath between his teeth. Okay, this was ridiculous. This was somebody who had literally gone to Hell for him, right? And now the poor bastard really needed a solid and damned if Dean didn't repay his debts. This really wasn't too much to ask. Right?

Sufficiently psyched up, he turned around to take charge of the situation. _Don't over-think it, _he reminded himself_. _Wordlessly he crossed the room and knelt next to Castiel on the mattress, avoiding eye contact. Then he nudged his hand between Cas' legs and cupped him firmly through his boxers.

Castiel gave a soft grunt that sounded pained and maybe a little frightened, but Dean quickly got to work. He had a cock, after all, so he pretty much knew what to do with it. Felt a little backwards, like tying somebody else's tie, is all. It only took some hard strokes and a couple good tugs through the fabric before Cas groaned, and Dean just remembered to ease the head out of the slot in his boxers and into the sock.

Then he gave a good squeeze and Cas jerked in his hand, sounding surprised but hopefully satisfied, too. Dean made sure to catch all of the spunk that spurted out from the end of his cock, and used the sock to wipe him quickly clean. "There you, buddy, good, good job," he muttered inanely, aware on one level that he was talking to Castiel as though he was a kid learning to hit a baseball, but also knowing that he wasn't hearing the words anyway.

As soon as he was spent Castiel went totally lax, his head flopping to the side, eyes glazed. Dean was pretty sure he was falling straight to sleep – just like a man – and he had to admit, he was feeling kinda smug. He'd just blown his little angel mind.

"Dude," he said quietly, tossing the sock into the corner and grimacing as he wiped his hands on his jeans. "You totally owe me."

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**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**Slow Ride, **_Chapter Two_

_Castiel was planning to save Dean, but it's funny how often that situation gets reversed. Dean/Cas SLASH._

**.**

**.**

Castiel was familiar with unconsciousness, but he did not typically sleep. After experiencing the – intensity – of human pleasure, he was rendered briefly absent, overwhelmed by the sensations. But after a few seconds he returned to himself, attempting to open his eyes and sit up.

It seemed that the human vessel had other ideas. He was experiencing a strange heaviness in the body's limbs and the inexplicable urge to melt into the mattress. Added to that was the way the eyelids kept sliding closed of their own accord, determined to stay that way. He could feel the blood pumping through the veins at a lower rate, and the lungs began working slowly and rhythmically. The senses swam and blurred.

Castiel was forced to meditate, in order to escape the unpleasant sensations of the body he inhabited as it went into a resting state. He thought about the sight of the clouds from above, the perfect play of light over their gentle, rolling forms.

Distantly, as though he was underwater, he could hear Dean moving quietly around the room. Somehow this thought was reassuring, allowed him to succumb to the vessel's demands; it would be alright, Dean had watch.

As it rested the vessel began to cool, and Castiel felt himself shivering in the unheated cabin. He had just begun to hope it might be enough to rouse the body from its torpor when he heard Dean approach the bed, and then something soft was being settled over him, covering him up. The body curled instinctively into the warmth.

He thought he heard Dean snort, maybe in distain, maybe affection. The body slept on, heedless.

…

By the time sensation gradually returned, it seemed as though several hours had passed. Castiel hurried back eagerly from where he'd been contemplating the mysteries of the universe to peer out of Jimmy's newly opened eyes. Dean was sitting in a beaten-up chair across the room, his face grey and drawn.

"You haven't rested," Castiel noted, disapproving.

"No sleeping on a hunt," said Dean, his voice gritty.

Castiel opened his mouth to object – after all, _he _had been sleeping – but Dean cut him off, correcting himself; "I mean, unless you're, you know – " he waved a hand in Castiel's direction – "injured or whatever." He hoisted himself up from the chair, moving slowly. "How're you feeling?"

Castiel took a mental survey. His mouth tasted stale and dry. It appeared that he was covered in Jimmy's trenchcoat, which, he noticed for the first time, smelled like sweat. The vessel's injured knee was still aching and useless, and when he tried to move it, it rebelled, clenching up. "I think – stiff, maybe?"

Dean snickered. "Oh, yeah, that happens," he said. "Morning wood. No judgment."

Castiel blinked at the non sequitur. "I mean, the vessel's knee is still injured," he clarified. "Sleeping seems to have made it worse."

"Uh, right. Well, you know, humans don't recover as fast as you guys. That injury would keep a person off their feet for a whole week, maybe two. And that's assuming you don't dislocate it again, or you could be dealing with it for the rest of your life." Dean cocked his head. "Well, _Jimmy_ would be dealing with it for the rest of _Jimmy's_ life."

Castiel didn't know why Dean was telling him this. "That will not happen," he said. "As soon as I recover enough of my grace, I will be able to heal the injury completely, as though it never occurred."

"Must be nice." Dean got up slowly from the chair, stretching his arms. "Did you really sleep?" he asked, sounding honestly curious.

"The body slept," said Castiel, "I did not."

"Well that just sounds like _assloads_ of fun." Castiel was able to correctly interpret his tone of voice as sarcasm.

"Yes, it was – unpleasant, but necessary," he agreed. He waited a beat. "Dean - thank you for helping me, before. With the sex."

Dean snorted. "Dude, that wasn't sex."

"But earlier … ?"

"That was just a wank," Dean clarified. "There wasn't even skin contact. Don't worry, your angel virginity is still intact."

"Oh," said Castiel, and maybe he sounded somewhat disappointed. He thought Dean was being a little a little small-minded; after all, he had experienced orgasm, and orgasms meant sex to him. But apparently in the human world there were rules about these things, so he didn't argue.

"Anyway, changing the subject please God, there's been no sign of our demonic buddy yet," Dean said. "It's not dark yet - maybe he's waiting for the best time to smite us?"

"Possibly," said Castiel, trying to sit up. Dean offered him an arm to grab hold of, and he took it thankfully, easing himself up sit. "We should try to dispatch him as soon as possible."

"Yeah, I tried calling Bobby for some intel, but I'm not getting a signal. You got any insights on this guy Moloch? Likes, dislikes, boxers, briefs?"

"The span of angelic memory is very long," said Castiel dully. "What information do you require?"

"Like, first of all, what's he doing with these kids?"

Castiel frowned. "You don't know this?"

"Hey, if you want high-quality research, you got the wrong brother," said Dean. "Should have backed the big nerdy one."

Castiel sighed. "It is his practice to demand the sacrifice of a child, which he uses to gain power. In return, he grants his followers prosperity."

"Bad trade," Dean noted. "Any chance he'd accept, like, a pumpkin? I've heard that works sometimes."

"I do not think he would accept produce."

"And why children?"

"Because it is the greatest sacrifice a human can offer," said Castiel dispassionately. "To a parent the loss of their child is worth more than their own life, or even –" he glanced at Dean out of the corner of his eye – "the loss of their soul."

"Gotcha."

Castiel tried to shift his position on the bed and found it to be a mistake; the vessel's bad knee locked up and rendered his whole left side immobile. Uselessly he scrabbled with his fingers, trying to take the weight off the injured area, half-managing to turn onto his side.

"Woah, there," said Dean, apparently noticing his distress. He prodded Castiel onto his back and hauled him up against the pillows. "Stop moving around. You'll just aggravate that knee."

"Sorry," Castiel gasped. He wasn't sure why he was apologizing. He struggled to keep still but couldn't find a comfortable position, making a frustrated sound.

Dean cupped a hand over his shoulder and exerted subtle downward pressure, which Castiel had come to understand was a way to say, _don't worry, I got this, _without words. Or sometimes _stay seated_, or occasionally _don't talk about angel stuff in front of regular humans, you dummy. _It was funny how much humans could say with their bodies, and it was troubling how much of what Dean's body said, Castiel had come to understand.

He watched as Dean pushed back the sheet and slid a hand under his injured knee, hoisting it up so he could slide a pillow underneath. Castiel suddenly became aware of the feel of his hand against the bare skin; it was smooth and cool.

"That good?" asked Dean, studying the position of the knee.

"Yes."

"I don't have another ice pack. We could try the well-water, it's probably pretty cold."

"It's fine," said Castiel, mostly because he didn't want Dean to go outside. He was finding he liked to keep him within reach.

"So, Moloch will be targeting bad parents, then?" Dean was examining the puffiness of the injury, pressing his fingers against the skin. His other hand gripped lightly, holding the joint immobile as he worked.

"No, now that he walks the earth again, he will no longer require a willing sacrifice," said Castiel, shuddering under the touch. He hoped Dean would mistake his reaction for pain. "He can simply kill the child himself and use the power he gains from the act. In time he will become unstoppable."

"Yeah well last time he tried to flambé a kid I broke up the barbeque, so I'm guessing he'll try to finish us off before he gets that far again."

When Dean finally let him go, Castiel looked down and then reached to pull the trenchcoat back over himself. He couldn't believe the body had done this to him _again. _

"You're right," he managed to say, "he will come, and already he is very powerful."

"Will Ruby's knife still kill it?" Dean held it up by the elk-horn handle, and the light glinted off the wicked blade.

"Yes," said Castiel. "I believe so."

"Then that's all I needed to know," said Dean, stuffing it in his belt as he moved to the window to look out. "When he comes for us, we'll be ready." He grinned. "What do you know, you might've picked the right brother after all."

"I don't doubt it," said Castiel, softly.

...

He waited until Dean left to check the salt lines, and hopefully take a nice long walk of perimeter, because he had the impression that it made Dean uncomfortable to assist him with this particular type of problem.

It was annoying that it was necessary so frequently, but he was confident that he could use his newfound skills to good effect. Like the inconvenience of a dislocated knee, this would eventually pass. He wasn't completely sure how the Winchester brothers ever found time to kill demons, though. No wonder they never could prevent the breaking of Seals.

...

When Dean came in with his shotgun slung over his shoulder, Cas was sitting on the bed with his boxer shorts tugged down, looking down at his dick in his hands. "Dude, some warning!" he said, wheeling back around.

"It won't go away," said Castiel.

"Huh?"

"It felt good at first," Castiel said, covering up, "but nothing came out. And then it stopped feeling good."

"How, uh, how long you been at it?"

"Since you were handling my leg. Apparently the vessel misinterpreted that as erotic touching."

"Aw jeez, sorry buddy," said Dean, "I shouldn't have – I didn't think – I don't – really know what to say." He was guessing there wasn't a Hallmark card for, _Sorry I accidentally gave you a stiffy. _

"Clearly, this is an embarrassing situation," said Castiel gravely.

"Dude, it's alright, you're human now, I get it," said Dean. "We're horny. Believe me, I'm not really one to judge. You just - got a hair trigger, there."

"It's still hard," said Castiel.

"Seriously? Did you try what I showed you this morning?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"It - hurts."

"What, your dick?" Dean laughed. "I bet it does, buddy. You gotta take care of that thing. I don't want to be the one to tell you this, but you're like some kind of freaky Viagra commercial here. It's been, like, hours. I'm kinda worried you're gonna pass out."

"Nothing is working."

"Well, now, sometimes if you got yourself too worked up, you kinda get a block," said Dean, coming cautiously closer. "Like – you want it so bad, you know?"

Castiel didn't know, but he knew that Jimmy's cock was killing him, and his half-hearted attempts at pulling on it as Dean had shown him, hadn't helped. In fact it might have made it worse. "I hate this," he said, his voice cracking embarrassingly.

"Hey," said Dean, coming to sit on the bed, "hey, it's not a big deal. This is just a human thing, you're alright."

"You're laughing at me," said Castiel, narrowing his eyes.

"Well, yeah, a little bit, but – uh, I'm real sympathetic, too. Lotsa times some girl gets me all hot and bothered and then I'm stuck dealing with it myself." Dean realized about half-way through that he coming off as the hot girl in this example.

"I – hate it," said Castiel, squirming uncomfortably.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. Blue balls sucked. And _shit this was weird_, but - "Do you - d'you want me to help you with that?"

"Yes," said Cas fervently, "_please_."

So Dean, who really deserved some kind of medal for this shit, Friend of the Year or something at least, helped Cas lean back against the wall, so he could sit without putting any weight on his knee. "Tell me if it hurts," he said gruffly. "Hey, you hear me? You gotta tell me this stuff, man, I don't know."

"I will tell you," Castiel promised.

"Alright, let's see what we're dealing with, here." He could do this. This was, like, a medical situation, that's all; Dean Winchester, the _real _Doctor Sexy. Gently, he eased the swollen erection out from under the waistband, wincing at how angry and red it looked. "Jeez, that thing's a monster," he said, with a short laugh. "What the hell were you doing to it?"

"Perhaps I was - too rough?"

Poor little guy. It looked way too irritated to give Cas any pleasure being stroked and tugged on, and Dean knew exactly what _he_ liked when he got like that . . . .

Shit, he couldn't believe he was even thinking about this. Was there any chance that Moloch was the demon of, like, escalating bromance, instead of child sacrifice? Could he be clouding Dean's mind so that he was suddenly hot for dick? Because this could be something supernatural; weirder things had happened.

"Here, lift up," he said.

Cas gingerly raised his hips to allow Dean to slide off his underwear (Jimmy's underwear, really) – down his legs, carefully over the injured knee, and then off his feet. Then Dean coaxed his legs apart, guiding him to spread wide enough for Dean to crouch between. And okay, so that was kind of nice, the way Cas opened himself so willingly for Dean, trusting him completely. That made Dean feel pretty good. He knew Cas, as an angel, probably had some legitimate control issues.

Still he hesitated, chewing on his lower lip. Was he really going to do this? He'd never sucked dick before - obviously nothing that did or didn't happen in Hell counted - and it wasn't something he'd thought much about. But this was _Cas, _which sort of didn't count. Wasn't like the guy would be grading his performance or anything. And Cas wasn't going to judge him for this, if he didn't care about all the other way worse things he'd done.

One hand was absently stroking Cas' thigh, and he could feel the muscles trembling underneath. "You're gonna like this, Cas," he promised, moving slowly so as not to spook him. "I'm going to make you feel really good."

He remembered his first blowjob fondly (Mary Robertson, in the alley behind the drugstore in Branson Missouri when he was thirteen) and he wanted Cas to have good memories as well. And yeah, he had come really fast, and he was pretty much expecting the exact same thing from Cas. In fact he was counting on it.

"Here we go, okay?" He took a firm grip around the base of Cas' cock, then leaned forward and gently sucked the tip into his mouth.

It was a lot different than going down on a girl. Really, different. Dean tried not to think about it too much – not the taste (salty, with a tang) or the feel (rubbery and hot against his tongue). Mostly he concentrated on finding opportunities to breathe.

He sort of wanted to make it - good, for Cas. I mean, it was almost like an honor, being his first time and everything. Dean had had hundreds of blowjobs in his life - and enjoyed pretty much every one of them - but he had never given one before. He knew what he liked, though, and was fairly confident in his ability to replicate those techniques.

"Dean," Cas whispered, shifting restlessly, "I'm - _hot_ - "

"That's okay, buddy," Dean murmured, pulling off for a moment to answer, "that's how it's supposed to feel. Take some deep breaths and try to relax." Then he swallowed him back down, bobbing gently. With a little work he found he could take it deeper, until finally his lips met with his hand. Then he hummed, tunelessly, and smiled as Cas jerked and quivered at the sensation.

"_Dean!_" Cas didn't sound particularly relaxed. Dean smiled.

He was guessing he shouldn't try to swallow all of it as once, as that seemed like a skill that came with practice, so instead he kept his hand in place and worked his mouth around the rest, getting him nice and wet. Cas had dropped back on his elbows and Dean draped his free arm over his hips - he didn't think he could handle Cas thrusting up into his mouth, and obviously the poor guy didn't have much control in the sex department.

Cas whined and pushed back against him. Dean gave up on technique and sucked _hard_, hollowing his cheeks and feeling the tip at the back of his throat. He wanted to move this along before his jaw started to hurt.

Then he felt Cas' whole body tense and wished he'd thought to grab something to catch it in. Shit, it didn't exactly seem polite to spit out the jizz of an angel's first blow job, so Dean resigned himself to swallowing.

Cas was kind of freakishly quiet as he got close, biting softly on his bottom lip but otherwise looking decidedly unrumpled by the whole experience, his hips bucking gently up against Dean's arm. That made Dean feel kind of weird and maybe a little bad, like he was not really getting through to Cas about what they were trying to do here. It was supposed to be fun and feel good. Did Cas miss that memo? Shit, they didn't need to _talk_ about it, did they? `Cuz they were both dudes here, and that really should be the one advantage of the whole thing.

Then he made a face as his mouth was flooded with come, sort of bitter and slimy. He tried to swallow it all down without tasting it, grimacing at the feel of it sliding down his throat. He wished he had that flat soda he'd given Cas earlier.

There was a really weird moment when he sat back, and let Cas slip from between his lips. He didn't know exactly where to look or what to do next, other than rinse out his mouth. He thought it had gone pretty well – not really the top of his list, obviously, but Cas seemed to enjoy it, and that was what counted. He didn't really want _good little cocksucker_ on his tombstone, but at least he'd gotten him off.

He wasn't hard himself – not nearly – but he had to admit, he could maybe see why some people liked to do it. Other people, obviously. Mostly girls.

And at least, having finally glanced up, the awed, slightly dazed expression on Cas' face was going a long way towards shoring up his ego.

…

Experiencing his second-ever orgasm, Castiel was aware of surge of emotion he hadn't felt before; it was a wave of affection for Dean, the bringer of pleasure and relief. He turned his body clumsily on the bed to reach for him, wanting inexplicably to press their skin together wherever they could touch, and ended up pushing his head awkwardly into Dean's shoulder.

"Dude." Dean sounded amused, but at least he didn't immediately shove him away. "Wouldn't have pegged you for a cuddler." He tolerated the contact for a few minutes, patting Castiel uncomfortably on the back, sometimes the shoulder. Then he lightly shifted them apart again. "It's just the feel-good hormones, buddy," he said. "They'll pass."

Castiel wished that he could read Dean's mind, the way he sometimes could sometimes if they were together and his powers were honed. He understood that what Dean had done for him was special, and he felt humbled by it, and touched. Did Dean understand, too?

"Dean," he said, "what's going to happen?" He didn't know exactly what he meant, or why he thought Dean would be able to answer. Still, he knew it was the right thing to ask.

"Don't worry, Cas," said Dean, gently, as if he did understand. "As soon as you get your angel mojo back to 100 per cent, you're gonna fly away home."

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**Slow Ride**, Chapter Three

_Castiel was planning to save Dean, but it's funny how often that situation gets reversed. Dean/Cas SLASH._

_._

_._

"Dean," said Cas, after they had both recovered and been sitting quietly together for some time.

"Yeah?"

"I want to – bring you pleasure, too," said Castiel, hesitantly. "Is there something I can do?"

"Dude, it's okay," said Dean, "oral sex is sex. You're not a virgin anymore."

Castiel was no longer interested in the arbitrary rules of humans. "You didn't get to enjoy yourself," he explained; "perhaps I could – use my hand? Or – with my mouth, maybe?"

"No," said Dean at once. "I don't want you do that." He couldn't quite wrap his head around the thought of an angel of the lord on his knees, for him. Dean Winchester, who didn't even like being singled out at birthday parties.

"But isn't there anything you would like," asked Castiel – "something that would bring you pleasure?"

Unbidden, a series of images flashed across Dean's mind; thoughts of how good Cas would look, pinned underneath him, or bent over the mattress, or maybe up against the wall. Guiltily, he looked up to find blue eyes fixed on his face. "What you were just thinking about," said Castiel. "I want to do that."

Dean managed to laugh. "No, you don't."

He got up to check the saltlines on the window, as Castiel watched him, still naked from the waist down and making no move to cover himself up. It was frustrating not to be able to read Dean's mind anymore. He watched unhappily as Dean made a circuit of the room, clearly keeping as much space as possible between them.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"Huh?" Dean wasn't looking at him.

"I appear to have made you feel uncomfortable. That was not my intention. I apologize." He wished he would come back and sit again. Usually Dean was quite physical, at least with him – straightening his tie, directing him where to go with a hand on his arm, or his shoulder. Pushing him however Dean wanted him. But now Dean was clearly avoiding him, right when Castiel's needy human vessel craved contact more than ever. "These are all new feelings for me," he said, softly. "I find it very confusing."

"S'fine," Dean muttered. "Don't worry about it." He drifted closer to the mattress, eyes still fixed on the windows.

"You were thinking of – relations?" Castiel guessed. "I think I would like to – have relations, with you."

Dean froze. "Whoa, dude, no, bad idea," he said.

Castiel cocked his head. "Why?"

"You're talking about sex, right? Like actual, full-on, male-on-angel sex?" Castiel nodded, uncertainly. "That's – uh, that's pretty intense," Dean explained carefully, "and most people don't like it their first time. It's – kinda painful."

Castiel was unperturbed. "I trust you," he said. "I'm sure you'll make it a pleasant experience for me."

Dean blew out a breath. "O-kay, no pressure," he said, hiding his smile. "But no."

"You don't want to?" Castiel sounded almost – hurt.

"I'm not trying to insult your … angel feelings, or whatever," Dean said, finally dropping down to sit. "I just don't think it's a good idea. But don't worry, there's lots of other fun things we can do: believe me, you're with the right guy for this."

"I just - want to know what it's like, while I can still feel."

Dean sighed. He was pretty sure Cas had no idea what he was asking for.

He had fucked a man before, but he had been drunk and the guy had done all the work. It had been right after Sammy had left for Stanford and Dean had been morose and trying to keep out of his father's hair – John had been a real pisser for the first six months, trying to pretend nothing was wrong. After a long hunt Dean had been thankful for an invitation to a party at the fraternity they had just cleared of a poltergeist. At least it got him out of a hotel room that stunk of Jack Daniels and away from his father's temper, vicious as a rattlesnake. And there had been a guy at the party, a young, pretty guy, tall and thin with shaggy brown hair, making eyes at him all night. And Dean had loaded on a couple six-packs, and after the party broke up, when the guy had begged him to do it, Dean had fucked him over the back of a couch.

It had been good, not too much different than fucking a girl, and the guy obviously knew what he was doing, prepped himself and everything, and jacked himself off during, and afterwards he had thanked Dean profusely. But it had been anonymous and over in one night, and basically just one more secret to keep from Sammy and dad.

"Dude, you don't even _use _those body parts," said Dean, "it's gonna hurt like a sonofabitch. I don't want to do that to you. I like to – make people feel good …"

And Castiel knew that it was true. It was one of the hidden sides of Dean's nature, how he liked to take care of people - it was evident in the way that he worried over and protected his brother, or had worked so hard to please his father. But Dean took on too much, too much responsibility for things beyond human control. Castiel found that he wanted to give Dean something back, something that would bring him pleasure.

"I want to," said Cas, quietly.

"I can think of a hundred reasons not to," said Dean. "First of all, it's easiest if you bend over something, and your knee won't take the strain."

"We can do it face to face," Castiel countered calmly. "Humans do that."

"Second," Dean continued as if he'd never spoken, "I don't have any supplies. No condom, no lube."

"You don't need a condom with me," said Castiel, and Dean sucked in a breath and then exhaled slowly.

"Well I'm not fucking a virgin – you – up the ass with no lube," said Dean. "So the answer is still no."

Castiel was quiet for a moment, thinking. "In your duffle bag is a jam jar of holy oil," he said finally, as if he was commenting on the weather. "It's leftover from our time with Raphael."

"Okay, sacrilegious much?" said Dean.

"That was not one hundred reasons," Castiel observed. "Does this mean you consent?"

Dean groaned and closed his eyes, running his hands over his stubbled jaw. How could he do this? It wasn't something he could rationalize away as a favor or some kind of scientific experiment. This was _sex, _with _Cas, _for no other reason than because they both wanted to do it.

He looked over at the angel, who was sitting placidly next to him while he awaited Dean's decision. Like always, he looked scruffy and rumpled, his hair sticking up, with the beginning of a beard coming in. He was a good-looking man, if you were into that kind of thing - which Dean wasn't, particularly. More importantly, he was the only friend Dean had left in the world. Probably the only one who had his back, given that Sam was off taking a breather and Bobby was out of the game for the forseeable future.

Cas was the person who had brought Dean back to life, who risked his own life repeatedly to help him save the world.

Dean could count on one hand the number of people he really cared about, and when he took out the ones that had died or walked out on him, there weren't very many fingers left. Someday Cas would probably leave him too - Dean wasn't stupid; he knew that - but the guy had already given him more than Dean ever expected, and he was here now, alive, for however much longer. And for whatever reason, he wanted to do this.

He met Cas' blue eyes, and held his gaze, steadily.

"You'll tell me if I'm hurting you," he said. "Right?"

Cas nodded.

Dean went through the encyclopedia of positions in his head, finally settling on one he didn't think would put strain on the angel's injured knee. "Here, lay back," he said, checking the pillow under his leg, and then scooting to the head of the bed to grab the other one. "Okay, just gonna slip this underneath you ..." Obediently Cas raised himself high enough for Dean to settle the pillow under his lower back. "Comfortable?"

"Yes," said Cas.

Dean came to settle between Cas' thighs, looking down at the man spread out in front of him like a feast. "I guess I'm overdressed for this party," he said, reaching to shuck his two layers of shirts, and then cautiously lowering his hands to his belt. "Cas, you wanna keep your shirt on?"

Cas looked down at himself. "No."

"Well then, let's get on that," Dean suggested. He started to roll his eyes and then stopped himself; he didn't typically mock people he was gettin' busy with ... unless he knew for sure they were into that kind of thing. "Here, I'll do it."

He sat forward to carefully unbutton Cas' white oxford shirt, starting at the bottom and working his way up. "Okay?" He slid it off the angel's shoulders, then grabbed the hem of his undershirt and pulled it up over his head. Cas helpfully squirmed out of it and then sat, completely naked, while Dean unbuckled his own belt, and then popped the fly on his jeans. The sound of the zipper was startlingly loud. Dean pushed the pants off of his hips and kicked them away, and then paused with his fingers in the waist of his boxers, looking up to meet Cas' eyes, checking if he was freaked out yet. "Okay?"

"Okay," said Castiel patiently. He watched impassively as Dean's body was revealed to him; he had seen it before, of course. He understood that Dean was considered beautiful by human standards, but it was not the physical form of the Righteous Man that appealed to him, much though he preferred to look at it healthy and whole. It was Dean's attention, his affection, that Castiel desired at the moment. He wanted Dean to touch him. It was strange, how much he wanted that. And he wanted Dean to see him, only him, and to experience pleasure with him.

He didn't mention any of this, having been formerly educated on the meaning of "chick flick."

Finally rid of his clothes, Dean shuddered as goosebumps rose on his arms. He was relieved to feel the familiar excitement stirring in his stomach - he'd wondered if he would be able to get hard, what with no boobs and all. Luckily it seemed like Little Dean was on board with the plan. Cautiously, he rested a hand on Cas' stomach, above the little line of hair that tracked down from his belly button. "This is alright?" he asked, keeping his voice steady and calm.

"Dean, it's fine," said Castiel, faint irritation evident as he pushed to sit up a bit. "I'm not going to break if you touch me."

"Alright, alright, excuse me for trying to inject a little _romance_ into the situation," Dean grumbled. Still, his hands were gentle as he stroked Cas' sides, inching forward, guiding Cas' good leg up and out of the way. Just as he'd feared, Cas looked too tight to take a pencil, never mind Dean.

And okay, yeah, he'd done this with girls before, but only if they requested it and always with a condom. And obviously it was always good – tighter than pussy - but Cas was totally inexperienced, and Dean hoped he would never be the kind of guy who liked breaking innocent things.

Well, he'd have to distract Cas as he worked him open, so he wouldn't notice the burn of being stretched. Dean was pretty sure he could handle that.

His fingers curled around Cas' cock as he reached for the duffel bag with his other hands, feeling for the jar of holy oil. He was going to need it. A lot of it. "Hey, this stuff won't hurt you unless it's on fire, right?"

"Of course not." Cas was still staring at him, expressionless - the way he _always _stared at Dean - but Dean found that he didn't mind much anymore. Feeling strangely shy, he bent down to press his lips gently to Cas' dick, at the same time slicking up one finger and sliding it back, behind his balls. Just introducing himself, letting Castiel get used to the feeling.

"Okay, the first rule is, you gotta tell me what feels good," he said, carefully rubbing the slick finger around. "That's key to good sex. Hey, are you taking notes on this shit? I'm giving away all my secrets for free, here."

He sucked the head into his mouth and slowly pushed in one finger, thankful that in this position Cas couldn't really clench up.

"I like the feeling of your mouth," said Castiel promptly, sounding a little out of breath. "It's wet. And warm. It feels good."

"We'll work on the sex talk next time," Dean muttered. Only he was guessing there probably wasn't going to be a next time; if they weren't killed tonight by Moloch, Cas would be back to full-power and probably not up for making whoopie anymore.

Still lightly sucking on the tip, he worked his finger in and out, adding more oil whenever he could. It didn't really make very good lube - it was too thin - but it better than nothing. "Is this hurting you?" he asked, moving his finger in little circles, trying to stretch out the muscle.

"I have been shot and stabbed," said Castiel. "This is not hurting me."

Dean rolled his eyes; obviously, that was kinda different. He sat back and let Cas drop out of his mouth - after all, he needed him to keep that erection for a long time yet - and reached for more oil instead. He concentrated on working Cas open, although he did keep stroking him lightly with the other hand.

He had no idea how to find a prostate, so he just kept his finger moving, cautiously widening the circle as he felt Cas loosen up. When he thought he could handle a second finger he dipped two in the lube (uh, holy oil), then Cas sucked down again while he pressed both of them in. He felt Cas tighten around him, then relax, as he pushed forward, so he figured he'd taken them okay.

When his fingertip brushed over a different texture, Cas made a squeak and pushed up unexpectedly into Dean's mouth, making his eyes water. He took a few seconds to recover. Okay, that was the spot, but maybe it'd be better to avoid it for a while.

"I liked that," Castiel offered.

"Yeah," said Dean, "I figured." Although he felt a little ridiculous, he took a chance and nuzzled his face down to the spot where his fingers disappeared. It wasn't really all that gross; he had done way grosser things in his life (both in and out of the bedroom) and after all Cas was – clean, there. Wasn't like he made a lot of trips to the bathroom (and neither did Dean, after they transported together).

"That feels ... good," said Castiel, his voice strained.

Dean pulled back anyway and sucked Cas down as far as he could go while he pressed in a third finger and cautiously spread them apart. Cas made a small sound, but it was more like wonder than pain, and he pushed up eagerly into Dean's mouth, trying to get more suction, so he figured he was ready.

"Don't come yet," he warned, pulling back. "Take deep breaths or something."

He took his own cock in his hand - and boy did that feel good - and slicked it with the holy oil, feeling himself twitch happily at the sensation. It had been a long time since he'd had sex without a condom. He hoped he'd be able to keep his control. "Okay, here we go," he said, his other hand coming to rest on Cas' hip, stroking the sharp point of bone there. "Tell me if you need to go slower, okay?"

He nudged the tip of his cock against the opening, using his hand to wank Cas as he pressed forward. "Stop it," said Cas, pushing his hands away. "I want to feel."

Dean worked the head in slowly, and then moved up to stretch his body along the length of Cas', using just his hips to push in further. Castiel pressed back against his chest, maybe liking the heat or the sensation of skin against his own, Dean didn't know. He had a free hand now and he found it sliding over Cas' back, like a slow massage, running along each knob of his protruding spine. Castiel was making soft little sounds, maybe of pleasure, or was it more like surprise?

When he thought he was all the way in, Dean guided Cas' uninjured knee up against his chest, thankful that Jimmy was apparently pretty freaking flexible. Or maybe that was Cas inside of him - Dean couldn't think about it now. Cas' leg came to wrap around his waist in a weird half hug, but at least it allowed Dean to press even deeper, and that felt good.

There was nowhere else to go, and he rested a moment, the two of them connected in the most intimate way he knew. His hands tightened around Cas' back, pulling him up against him, feeling Cas' cock trapped between them and rubbing against their stomachs, still wet with Dean's saliva. "Is it okay?" he asked, his mouth close to Cas' ear. "Is it too much?"

"It is enough," said Cas, his voice deeper than Dean had ever heard. "It is just the right amount."

That was all the encouragement Dean needed; he began to move, slowly at first, trying to keep the strokes even, hoping he was hitting that place from before. Cas grunted each time he pushed in but didn't try to pull away, his fingers creeping up to cup Dean's backside, holding him there.

He let himself thrust a little harder, trembling on the edge of control, not wanting to go too far but driven by the urge to bury himself deeper, deeper, lodge himself inside forever. It was hard to think of words; he couldn't say _God _like he kind of wanted to, and it seemed wrong to curse. Definitely mixing up the two, as he usually did, was not a good idea. Finally he settled on groaning softly, inarticulate and low, and Cas turned his face towards him to watch, his eyes fixed as they always were on Dean's expression.

"Dean," he said finally, and _god it was hard to think but - _"Huh?" Dean managed to say.

"My mouth is hurting," whispered Cas, knowing it was not right words to describe what he was feeling.

"Wha?" Dean's head came up, concerned, his hips slowing down to a gentle press and grind. His eyes were on Cas' lips, which he was biting and pressing together anxiously, and it still didn't feel good enough.

"Little oral fixation there, huh buddy," said Dean, his eyes knowing. Castiel was relieved that Dean seemed to understand what he wanted, since he himself had no idea. As Dean moved their faces closer he closed his eyes willingly, somehow knowing it was the right thing to do, and obediently moved his head at the direction of Dean's broad hand cupping his chin. A particularly good stroke filled him up again and he gasped in pleasure.

Then he felt Dean's lips press against his own, and he _moaned - _this was _exactly_ what Jimmy's mouth had been wanting. Dean was kissing him, the way Castiel had once watched him kiss his brother Anna, but it felt a lot different from this side. Dean used the opportunity to coax Cas's mouth open for him, sliding his tongue in, strong and warm. Castiel didn't really know what to do with his body, although it was tingling and buzzing with need, so he gratefully accepted any initiative Dean wanted to take.

Dean picked up his rhythm again, looking down at Cas as he twitched underneath him, rocking with the thrusts, tossing his head from side to side. He took pity on him and guided his face up with a hand on his rough cheek, keeping him in place for Dean's kisses. Castiel sighed happily into his mouth, pushing back against Dean with no finesse but lots of enthusiasm.

Dean couldn't quite believe that Cas enjoyed this but it was obvious that he did. Dean could feel his own heart lightening - he was not going to hurt Cas, Cas was not going to be angry with him and hate him afterwards. Because it wasn't like Dean could really claim he was taking one for the team here, as he fucked Cas' perfect tight little ass. Oh, he liked this. A _lot_. He liked the slide of his hands up and down Cas' smooth, white skin - shoulder, flanks, good thigh, his ass which fit into Dean's hand like a ball in a glove. He liked to squeeze those cheeks together around his cock. And he liked to kiss Cas' hot, needy mouth, which had _no idea_ what it was doing, little tongue poking out like a turtle coming out of its shell before ducking back in. Loved that. Some part of him couldn't believe he was enjoying kissing a man - seriously, not something he ever planned on doing - but, c'mon, Cas was kind of a special case.

"Dean?" Cas pulled him away from these reflections, and Dean reminded himself that he was ass-deep inside an angel and he should maybe pay attention.

He shifted the angle and began to work in earnest, keeping his eyes locked with Castiel's in the most epic of their creepy staring contests ever. He was getting close, and he hoped Cas was too or this would be pretty embarrassing, so he pressed their bellies together hoping to give Cas better friction and was startled at the sudden explosion when the angel came. The feeling of Cas pulsing around him, sucking him in like a mouth, pushed Dean over as well.

Everything went white for a moment after that.

He collapsed as soon as it was over, pressing all of his weight over the angel's slightly smaller frame. He knew that he was probably crushing him, that he should move, but he enjoyed the warmth of him way too much for that. Yeah, he liked Cas right where he was, tucked underneath him with that dazed look on his face, slack-jawed and drowsy and willingly turning his face into the sweaty curve of Dean's neck when Dean coaxed him to do it.

He waited while his heart rate slowly returned to normal, then sat up carefully. "Did I hurt you, Cas?" he asked, turning the angel over onto his back so he could see his face. "Buddy?"

"No," said Cas, blinking. "I am unhurt."

"You did so, so good," Dean murmured, "just rest a minute, okay? Rest." He hauled himself up to rummage for his t-shirt and the last of the water, soaking the fabric and then using it to wipe off Cas' stomach where he'd iced himself. Then he gently nudged his legs apart, wary of the injured knee, and carefully cleaned the reddened opening. It looked stretched and raw, and Dean winced as he tried to keep his touch light, but thank God there was no blood, and Cas let him clean him there without a murmur.

Castiel was in fact too blissed out and relaxed to do anything except lay there as Dean fussed over his vessel's body, listening to his muttered praise. He felt fingers in his hair, stroking with uncertain, unfamiliar tenderness, and he knew that for humans this kind of touch would bring back memories of being cared for as a child. Castiel didn't have any such memories to evoke, but he still found the attention pleasant.

Then Dean wiped himself off quickly and collapsed on the mattress next to Castiel. It was quiet and Dean didn't know what to say next. He found himself waiting, half-cringing and half-defiant, for the pain to start. Because he always, always had to suffer for the things he loved.

Castiel pushed against his side, turning over to glance out the window. "The moon is rising," he observed, his voice gravelly as usual.

Dean turned too and looked, cursing. He was right.

They were out of time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Slow Ride, **_Chapter Four_

_Castiel was planning to save Dean, but it's funny how often that situation gets reversed. Dean/Cas SLASH._

**.**

**.**

Castiel watched in silence as Dean shifted through the weapons on the bed, trying to make selections for the upcoming fight.

"I think my knee feels ... a little better," he offered finally, although it was possible that was the effect of the adrenaline.

Dean squinted up at him, frowned, and walked on his knees over to examine the injury. "Maybe the swelling's gone down," he said, poking at it lightly. "Here, we'll wrap it up tight and maybe you can gimp along with a crutch, huh?"

Castiel was relieved. By avoiding Moloch's putridity for the better part of 24 hours, he had started to heal. His angelic powers must be slowly creeping back. But what did it matter? As soon as they met the demon again, he'd be just as impaired as he had been the first time. Moloch had defeated them both when he _wasn't_ injured; what chance did they have now?

"How does this feel?"

Castiel grimaced as Dean wound the lacing closely. "Great."

"Okay, try to stand up. Wait, here, take this." Dean handed him one of the railings from the battered staircase, which he had obviously pulled lose. It was of a good height for Castiel to use as a prop, and he carefully managed to work himself up to his feet and keep his balance. The knee protested sharply, but it held.

Dean grunted. "Good." He went back to the weaponry.

Castiel let himself drop back onto the bed. He should probably try to redress himself in Jimmy's clothing, he reflected; he was wearing nothing but his boxers, which Dean had helped him into. The hunter was fully dressed.

"Alright, when Sam and I go up against something big, we like to use the whole fork technique," said Dean, as Castiel slowly recovered his clothing. "One of us goes first and distracts it, lets it think it's got the advantage, while the other one sets up."

"You actually have a plan when you do that?" asked Castiel idly. "It always seems like you just jump in and start whaling away." Out of the corner of his eye he watched Dean to make sure he'd used the term 'whaling' appropriately. It appeared he had.

"Well, it's a flexible plan," Dean agreed.

"How do you plan to draw it in? I do not know the proper ritual, and Moloch may be too powerful to summon in the normal way..."

"How `bout I just hang around outside looking conspicuous," Dean suggested, rolling his eyes. "Man, you and Sam, always with the overthinking."

Castiel took a moment to consider this suggestion. It might work. "So what are you proposing?"

"I'll go first," said Dean, "then once he's occupied with beating the shit outta me, you use the knife." He extended Ruby's blade, handle-first, to Castiel.

"That seems like … a terrible plan."

"Yeah, they all are, really," Dean agreed, scooping up an armful of weapons and heading for the stairs.

.

Castiel assumed that the challenge of navigating the staircase was supposed to be some kind of test. Apparently he passed, when he rejoined Dean on the front porch only slightly out of breath, with the crutch clasped firmly in his hand. But Dean scowled, as though he would have preferred it if Castiel had failed.

"Listen, Cas," he said, "this isn't like one of your regular fights, okay?"

"Of course not," agreed Castiel stoutly. Moloch was much more powerful than the average demon.

"I mean – you don't have your usual mojo, here," Dean persisted. "No, like, finger-snapping or forehead-smiting, okay? In this world, we use knives. And if you lose the knife, you grab a stick, or a rock. And failing that, you use your fists."

Castiel cast a quick glance down at Jimmy's hands; without 'mojo,' he knew they would be just as battered as anything they hit. But, this was how Dean fought - Castiel had first-hand experience of that. Dean used a crowbar and his re-broken, lumpy knuckles. "I understand," he said.

"And I don't gotta tell you to take care of yourself, right?" Dean continued, as though Castiel had been arguing with him, although he hadn't. "You could be killed now, until we waste this prick, and we dunno if the Big Guy is watching today, alright? So just watch yourself."

"Yes Dean," said Castiel. He knew better than to mention that The Big Guy, as Dean liked to call his Father, was _always _watching.

Dean clapped his hand on Castiel's shoulder, and although the touch was not intimate, Castiel felt the heat of it through his clothing.

"Here, take these," Dean added, turning back at the last second. "They're throwing knives. They won't kill him but maybe they'll slow him down, and you don't have to get close."

Castiel took them, wondering if he would really be able to use such a weapon. For the first time he understood the human attraction for guns; he wished he and Dean could stand at a safe distance and shoot this creature dead.

He felt a tight feeling in his chest and realized it was anticipation, but – unpleasant anticipation. Fear. He had a new, first-hand understanding of the frailty of humans, and it seemed very clear to him that Dean could be killed or badly injured quite easily. He didn't worry so much for himself; angels were born to fight and die, after all. But Dean … there might be nothing he could do for Dean, trapped in this useless body. How could he protect him if he had to haul the heavy, awkward thing with him wherever he went?

When he looked up Dean was watching him, his mouth quirked up into a smile, his eyes fond. He reached out and grabbed the lapel of Jimmy's trenchcoat, using it to tug Castiel closer into his personal space. "C'mere," he muttered. One hand reached to tip up Castiel's chin so that he could bring their mouths together. The resulting kiss was soft and careful, Dean humming in the back of his throat, not trying to press inside, just holding his lips in a little pucker against Castiel's own.

Castiel made a noise that might not be considered appropriately masculine; in fact, he suspected it could best have been described as a whimper.

Dean sucked Castiel's bottom lip between his own, the faintest brush of teeth. Then he withdrew before Castiel even had time to properly respond.

"For luck," he said, but Castiel knew that humans also kissed goodbye.

Then Dean touched the SIG at his waistband, drew his non-magical knife, and ducked off the porch and out into the dark.

.

Castiel knew that there were spells used by the archangels, that could pull up the very vines of the earth and direct them against the enemy. His older brothers could tear down the stars to use as spears; all of the might of heaven, they could command. And here was Castiel with a handful of throwing knives that he could not even aim, helpless to do anything other than watch as the man he lo– the man he treasured above all others was beaten almost to death in front of him. He could feel the desire rising inside of him, to smite the demon with the righteous light which had always been his to command; but nothing happened, except that his fingernails dug into the skin of his human palms, drawing blood.

"Cas, fall back," said Dean, spitting out blood and what might be a tooth.

Castiel ignored him, still limping forward. "Leave him alone." He almost lost his balance, caught himself at the last minute, and kept shuffling on.

Moloch turned to face him, a grotesque grin stretched across his borrowed face. "Little angel," he said, "wait your turn."

Dean had rolled away and was back on his feet, still gripping his own blade in his hands. He seemed indifferent to the pain, eager to continue the fight. "Cas," he warned again.

There were so many knives at play that Castiel found he had lost track of them; where was Ruby's knife, the crucial one? He knew he didn't have it; Moloch was the last one to have a hand on it. He had twisted it easily out of the angel's grasp, laughing. So much for the plan.

Castiel staggered forward, the demon turned to face him, and Dean dropped to the ground, whipped out a leg to take the demon out at the kneecaps from behind. As he fell Moloch blocked with his arm, shoving Dean backwards, and although the blow glanced off of him it gave the demon time to free his hands. Castiel barely saw the glint of a blade as it was plunged into the meat of Dean's shoulder.

Dean grunted and Castiel felt his heart spasm in Jimmy's chest, as Moloch regained his feet. "First I'll kill you," he mused, advancing, "and I'll make the angel watch. Him, I'll take my time with."

"No!"

Moloch aimed a gloating, victorious smile at Castiel, and then, in a move too fast for Castiel's human eyes to track, Dean was up and behind him, pulling the blade from his left shoulder with his right hand. "Suck it, bastard," he muttered, and plunged the bloody knife into the demon's spine.

Moloch seemed to glow with an inner light, which Castiel knew was the fire of hell. Dean stabbed him again and again, even as he began to dissolve into nothing, and Castiel wondered for a second how the hands that had been so gentle with his body were so rough and merciless now.

There was barely a moment of screaming, and then Moloch was gone.

"Not bad for a terrible plan," Dean commented, cupping a hand over his wounded shoulder. "Next time try not to lose the knife, okay? We're lucky he didn't know what it was." He grinned through bloody teeth and Castiel remembered what Zachariah had always said of Dean – that he was born to be a hunter, that he lived for it.

"Yes," Castiel agreed. "I will work on that for next time."

He could see blood seeping out between Dean's fingers, but when he reached out a hand, Dean stepped minutely back. Looking at him Castiel could tell it was an unconscious gesture, something he didn't even think about. Dean had always been better at giving aid than accepting it.

With Moloch permanently gone, Castiel could feel the warming buzz of his own grace returning to his body. Jimmy's broken, twisted knee was straightening in the joint, the tendons tightening up, the broken skin closing as though it had never been torn. He was not at full strength yet - that would take a few hours - but he wanted every inch of his power for Dean, to help Dean. He wished he could keep the grace from healing his own body first.

When he moved closer to Dean the hunter flinched away and caught himself against the trunk of a tree, panting a little in exertion. Castiel grit his teeth at the obstinacy of humans and, concentrating hard on an act that was once second nature, transported them with a thought to the Impala. Then he touched two fingers to Dean's forehead and sent him instantly into a deep sleep.

.

The hotel where Dean had first come to research the murders was not of particular quality, but it had a bed and that was all Castiel required. He transported Dean directly into it.

He could not stop staring; it was so strange. Here were the lips that had kissed him, but they were cracked now and covered in blood. The fingers that had stroked him so carefully an hour ago were broken, the fingernails torn off. And Dean, always so lively, was now still and quiet, his face slack, unconscious of the scrutiny.

He wiped the blood away from Dean's chin, the human way, with his hand instead of his grace. He couldn't find the source of the injury until he gently thumbed open Dean's mouth and saw he had bitten his tongue. It was such a small cut that Castiel trickled a little bit of grace over it, watching it close. Healing was a difficult skill and, as a soldier, Castiel wasn't particularly good at it. Cut off from heaven as he was, he would not be able to heal Dean of even a minor injury like a broken bone, never mind Bobby's severed spinal cord, but for such a tiny wound as this, it was possible.

Then he stripped off Dean's shirt, impatient to see the place where the knife had struck. It was still seeping sluggishly and Castiel growled in frustration; even with all of the grace he had managed to recover so far, he would never be able to close it.

There was no reason to panic, he reminded himself firmly. Dean was a young, healthy human and he would certainly recover. It was only because his own grace was not completely returned that he was still feeling these unproductive emotions.

He knew that humans could stitch up their skin, like fabric, but he wasn't clear on the specifics. Plus he found that he did not like the idea of piercing Dean with a needle. Dean had had enough of that kind of thing. For now he would wrap it in cloth and hope for the best; it would probably leave a wicked scar, but Dean had so many scars that Castiel didn't think he'd mind another. At one time Castiel had wiped away every blemish from his skin, but already it was covered all over again.

When he was satisfied that the blood was squelched, he sat next to Dean on the bed, hesitating. There were still lots of bruises, but nothing else that he could treat. He found that he could hardly bear to see the dark, reddened marks on Dean's forehead, evidence of damage to his beautiful face. He didn't understand his own reactions; of course Dean was handsome and well-formed, but that was true of many humans. It did not explain Castiel's _personal _interest in his physical body, which was after all little more than a container for the soul with which Castiel was entrusted. Once Castiel had allowed himself to believe that Dean would be happiest if his body was allowed to die, so that his soul could finally rest in the fields of the Lord. But now he would do anything - _anything - _to prevent that from happening.

He frowned, watching as Dean shuddered faintly under the thin sheets. Dean did not care for what the humans called the snuggling, Castiel knew that. But he could feel the need in the body trembling against him, and he decided that, for once, he didn't care what Dean thought. He lay down fully clothed on top of the bedclothes, and curled his body around Dean's.

Dean made a small, wet noise as he turned into Castiel's shoulder. Perhaps he claimed not to enjoy the snuggling, but he seemed to like the heat of it at least.

Castiel gently ran one finger down his scruffy cheek, wondering if that felt good to him. His own human vessel apparently liked to be touched, but perhaps Dean's did not? Certainly Dean hadn't let Castiel touch him much, during their encounters. But now Dean was asleep and wouldn't mind. Or at least he wouldn't know.

Castiel very carefully set his lips against Dean's soft ones, increasing the pressure slightly in an attempt to recreate what he remembered of Dean's kisses. But it didn't seem to be the same. Perhaps it was very important for your partner to be conscious in order to properly experience kissing?

Eventually he gave up, laying his head down on the pillow next to Dean's, and closing his eyes. He could feel the power building in him, and it felt good - familiar, comfortable - but he was also afraid he was losing something, something he couldn't put his finger on.

Next to him he felt Dean stir, slowly coming awake, and immediately he sat up.

"Wa's goin on?" Dean mumbled, obviously confused, trying to peer up at Castiel.

Castiel knew that he would respond best to one voice. "You're alright, big brother," he said, using Sam's own timbre with a thought. "Just a little pinstick."

"We get it?" asked Dean, obviously not remembering which particular hunt they were on.

"You got it, Dean," Castiel answered, still in Sam's voice. "It's alright, go back to sleep."

"You alri'?" Dean slurred, reaching up one hand to grip Castiel's forearm. He must be really out of it, not to notice the difference between Sam's ham-hocks of muscle and Jimmy's delicate wrist, but his anxiety was obviously sincere.

"I'm fine, big brother. You kept me safe just like you always do," said Castiel, going with the words he thought would give Dean the most comfort.

"Alri'" said Dean, "M'gonna go back to sleep."

"Good," said Castiel, taking the chance of resting one hand on Dean's shoulder, squeezing slightly the way he'd seen Dean and Sam do to reassure each other. "Good, Dean. You sleep."

As he felt Dean drifting off, Castiel realized that he was finally fully restored. Or at least as full as he got these days - he was not what he once was. But with his powers returned, he also regained the ability to hear the chorus of the heavenly host, and the constant pulsing _wrongness _that was the absence of his Father in heaven.

He was an angel again. There was work to do, and he had tasks to fulfill. He could not waste time lingering with his mortal lover, not while the battle was still being fought.

He climbed slowly off of the bed, carefully covering Dean with the blankets; he remembered from his time as a human that it was easy to get cold when sleeping. Then, hesitantly, he opened Jimmy's miraculously mended trenchcoat and shrugged it off, laying it carefully over the others. He stroked Dean's forehead to send him deeper into a sleep that would last many hours. Then he instantly transported himself far away.


	5. Chapter 5

.

**Slow Ride, **_Chapter Five_

_Castiel was planning to save Dean, but it's funny how often that situation gets reversed. Dean/Cas SLASH._

**.**

Dean awoke with the feeling that he had been interrupted in the middle of something important. It was not a good way to wake up. At first he kept perfectly still, cataloguing each injury as it made itself apparent. His fingers were raw, and his knuckled throbbed – obviously he had been in a fight, but these days that didn't exactly narrow it down much. And _Christ_, his shoulder hurt, the muscle pulling as he moved.

Blearily, he squinted around the room. The stale smell of cigarettes told him he was in another crappy hotel ... talk about _not _narrowing it down. In the dim light the room looked vaguely familiar, but maybe that was just the inherent sameness of all hotel rooms, everywhere; anonymous, indifferent, and depressing.

He had apparently dreamed that Sammy was there, which was embarrassing but not exactly unusual. Although he was coming to terms with the fact that Sam didn't want to be his little brother anymore – and who could blame him, Dean hadn't exactly done the best job at keeping his promises – he still hoped that someday they could at least be hunting partners again. Uh, assuming they didn't both die in the next few weeks, obviously.

But evidently Sam wasn't around, or Dean's pills would be on the bedside table; Sammy was good about things like that.

He reached for the duffel bag he always kept next to the bed, wanting the Vicodin he kept stashed in the side zip – but the duffel wasn't there. Dean groaned and let his head drop back on the pillow. He couldn't remember driving back from wherever he'd been – had he even _brought _the Impala? Crap, she could be _anywhere._

He heaved himself up, swinging his legs around and out of the bed. Find his baby, find his pills, figure out what the hell had happened this time – in that order.

He touched his throbbing shoulder and found that it was wrapped, but too loosely; again, not Sammy's work. Dean checked the injury quickly and then pulled the gauze tight, grunting a little. It probably could've done with some stitches, but this would work. Leave another scar, that's all.

He finally noticed that draped over the blankets was a very familiar tan trench coat … oh right, _Cas_, this was all coming back to him now. Freakin' Cas had done the freakin' magic finger. Dean _hated _the magic finger.

He rubbed the edge of the coat, realizing as he did so that the formerly torn seams were somehow restored. Looked like Castiel had completely recovered his grace, and at least that sonofabitch demon was dead. Well, it wasn't exactly the first time he'd been ditched after some hot sex, so Dean should be used to this by now. And to be fair, he was usually the one doing the ditching so he couldn't really complain.

He got up slowly, gritting his teeth against the pain of stiff muscles being forced to move. Thank God (uh, or His angels … whatever) he could see the Impala outside the window of the motel, waiting for him patiently like the faithful steed that she was. So maybe Cas had ditched him, but not without a ride. Quality.

He limped out the front door and made his way slowly to the car, which had been left unlocked (damnit, Cas!). There was the duffel bag in the back seat – Dean rummaged for the pills and dry-swallowed two, sighing with pleasure. He knew they hadn't really kicked in yet but he felt better instantly - some psychological thing, Sammy would know.

He found the keys in the glove box and locked the Impala, then dragged the duffel bag behind him back to the room. Finally he got the door closed behind him and leaned against it, closing his eyes in the dim room and sighing in relief.

"You should be resting, Dean."

"Jesus _Christ!_" Dean almost jumped out of his skin. Of course the angel appeared approximately _two inches in front of him_, so that when he opened his eyes he was _right there_.

Cas frowned. "No, it's me, Castiel." He moved even closer into Dean's personal space, concerned. "Perhaps you hit your head?"

Dean pushed Cas back a half-step and groaned in exasperation. "Dude. Not being literal here." He took a good look at the angel, trying to see if there was any sign of what they had been through together - but Cas looked the way he always did, wide-eyed and a little startled, like he's just stuck his finger in an electric socket.

"Came back for your coat, huh?" Cas didn't even look right in his white shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled up around his elbows.

"No Dean, I came back for you," he said patiently. "I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Well, here I am," said Dean. "Right as rain. You blinked me here after the fight, huh?"

"Yes. Once Moloch was killed my powers returned, such as they are." He gazed guilelessly into Dean's unhappy face. "I was very careful with your digestion," he offered hopefully.

Dean nodded, rolling his eyes. He was guessing Cas didn't know how to drive. Distantly, he could feel the tingling of the painkiller kicking in; the edges of his vision were blurry, and his fingertips went numb. It felt _great_.

"Are you alright, Dean? Your heart rate just dropped." Castiel was standing too close again, his wide blue eyes pinned intently on Dean's expression.

"S'jus the pills, Cas," muttered Dean, staggering a little as he tried to get back to the bed. Cas grabbed him by the shoulder, and just his grip was enough to keep Dean on his feet.

"Allow me to help you," he ordered, hauling Dean effortlessly back to sit on the bedspread. Yeah, back to angel-strength again.

"Watch the manhandling," Dean grumped. Castiel assumed he was embarrassed to be the subject of scrutiny – he knew Dean preferred not to be the center of attention, particularly if he was feeling unwell. Perhaps it made him feel threatened. Inching closer, he placed his hand on Dean's forehead, the way the human had once done for him when all of this started. Dean looked faintly puzzled, so perhaps he was doing the ritual wrong, but to Castiel it felt good to have Dean's warm skin under his hands.

"Dude," said Dean.

"I'm attempting to express my concern," said Castiel helpfully.

"Uh, yeah, I got that," said Dean. "But I'm good, Cas. Promise."

"That's untrue. You were damaged in the fight."

Dean smiled, and it was his usual cocky grin, all teeth; "Yeah, but Moloch got it worse, right?"

"Yes," said Castiel. "Moloch is dead."

"Totally worth it, then."

Castiel watched as Dean leaned slowly back against the headboard, closing his eyes as the painkillers made him a little light-headed. "Moloch was a very powerful demon," he said. "To demand the sacrifice of children … it is abhorrent, an abomination before the Lord."

"Yeah right," said Dean dopily, his eyes faintly glassy in the dim room. "What about that poor dude Abraham? God wanted him to kill _his _son. Sounds just like Moloch to me."

"You read the bible," Castiel commented, impressed.

"Sammy gives me the highlights."

"I told you your bible has many mistakes," Castiel said mildly. "The point of that story is that God was merciful. He didn't demand Isaac's sacrifice."

"Making Abe _think _he was going to have to kill his son, s' just as bad." Dean blinked slowly. "God isn't merciful. He always gets his pound of flesh, one way or the other."

Castiel cocked his head. "We are not talking about the story of Abraham," he said. "We are speaking of yourself, and your brother."

"I prayed," said Dean, his voice distant and vague. "I prayed when Sam died. I prayed that God would take me instead. He didn't answer, but the Crossroads Demon did."

Castiel didn't know why Dean had been chosen to suffer. It wasn't something he was supposed to question. But he offered, quietly; "I'm sorry, Dean."

"I just got this feeling," said Dean, "That the only way we're ever going to see the end of this apocalypse clusterfuck is if one or both of us go, me or Sammy." One glittering eye cracked and pinned Castiel like an arrow. "I'm just praying God will be merciful this time, and he'll let me go instead of him."

Castiel felt cold, tight; "Don't say that, Dean."

"Because I don't have anything left to sacrifice," said Dean bleakly. "I'm down to the bottom of the barrel. And I'm just praying that He'll still have me, even after – everything I've done. But … He's going to demand something that'll hurt a hell of a lot worse. Isn't He." It wasn't a question.

"My father is merciful, Dean," Castiel whispered hopelessly.

He was frustrated by his inability to fix Dean's brain, and he couldn't remember how human comfort worked, exactly; even if he placed his vessel's hand on Dean's skin, what was the benefit? Would Dean understand what he wanted to say? "Don't think about these things anymore," he said instead. "I'm ordering you not to."

Dean managed a smile. "Sorry, buddy. Can't help it. It's a human thing."

"I suppose I wouldn't know about that."

"Don't sell yourself short," said Dean, "You were a pretty good human. You know, for an angel."

"I didn't like it," said Castiel fiercely. "I don't ever want to be that way again. Useless, helpless to assist you."

"You did alright," said Dean, closing his eyes.

"Being human was – a great misfortune."

"Hey, there's some good things about it, too."

"One good thing," said Castiel. "And that's you. You were kind to me."

"Dude, I know you don't know a lot of people personally," said Dean patiently, "but most of us wouldn't leave a friend with a busted knee lying on the grass. It's not really saying very much."

That hadn't been exactly what Castiel was referring to. He looked at Dean, lying back against the bed with his eyes closed. He knew now how clearly humans felt their own fragility - so much more than angels. They were so quick to fear, to suffer, to hurt. That meant Dean felt those things, all the time, and yet he pushed forwards. Even though the most ridiculous accident – a stray bullet, a bolt of lightning – could kill him instantly, or leave him permanently maimed. Even though he had already died, more than once, and lost his mortal soul, which was worse. Still he kept trying, in this frail little body that Castiel had cobbled together for him, made out of dust and clay and old bones. The body that Castiel had held in his hands when it was first made, the last time it was really safe, before he had tossed it rudely back out into the world.

Now Castiel wanted to hold that body safe again, to feel its delicacy and its strength, and do what he could to bolster it.

"Dean," he said.

Dean's eyes opened slowly and came to rest on his face. "What?"

"When we had – the sex … "

"Yeah?"

"Things … are different now."

"Yeah, I know, you're angel-ed up again," said Dean flatly. "I figured."

Castiel had the feeling they were not communicating properly.

"Is Jimmy mad?" asked Dean, seemingly out of nowhere. "About - what we did in his body?"

Castiel tipped his head. "I can't feel him any more," he said. "Not since the last time I died."

"Don't say that, man," said Dean. "I don't wanna hear that." So Castiel stopped talking. "Only I could get my own angel tortured - by _heaven_."

This time Castiel did take the chance of placing his hand, quite deliberately, over Dean's. "It wasn't your fault," he said quietly.

Dean was looking down at their joint fingers, with an expression on his face that wasn't exactly encouraging. Obviously Castiel was doing the touching wrong, but he persisted, even if he incurred the "chick flick" conversation again. "Before, when I said that things are different," he began cautiously. "I mean that I have regained my powers. I am strong again."

"Got that, yeah."

"And yet I find that I have thoughts of you, still. I want to - be with you, in that way, again. One last time."

"Wow," said Dean. "Uh, I'm not really sure I'm up to it, just at the moment. Can you chill for like an hour and ask again?"

"You do not need to do anything, Dean. I want you only to receive what I give you."

Dean sat up a little straighter in the bed. "Woah, dude. Back up."

"Do you fail to understand my meaning?"

"Uh, I hope I'm misunderstanding. Because I hate to tell you this, buddy, but I don't do that. I mean, I never have - I don't ..." This was one of those things that was tricky to explain to an angel, even one who could take a hint, which Cas couldn't. But Dean had never seriously thought about being fucked by a man. For one thing, he was a Winchester, and they just didn't do that (please, God, Sammy). Obviously anything that might or might not have happened in Hell didn't count.

And okay, yeah, maybe he'd had girls slide a pinky finger up there while they sucked him off, nudging against his prostate while he'd come, and that felt pretty good, but that was one little finger, not Cas' (Jimmy's?) big dick that had stretched his mouth the day before. And despite what Sammy probably believed, Dean didn't get off on pain; he saw more than enough of that on the job, and didn't want any more of it. Pain was the price he had to pay for his victories, and he paid it, every single time, without complaining. To keep Sammy safe, to kill some demon sons of bitches, or to protect the innocent. But sex was supposed to be the opposite of that, a chance to feel good, to relax and forget all of the shitty stuff they usually dealt with.

"Look, Cas, if you want to have a go at fucking, we can find you a woman," he said.

Cas looked legitimately surprised. "This isn't about me, Dean," he said. "I want to give you – a gift."

"Your dick up my ass is a gift?" snorted Dean. "Hate to tell you this, but your buddy Michael wants to give me the exact same present."

Castiel felt a hot wave of fury. "He won't touch you," he said. "I won't ever let him."

"I don't know what you want me to say," said Dean, clearly uncomfortable.

Castiel frowned, knowing that he wasn't explaining this very well. He was close enough to read Dean's mind, if he wanted to, and he dipped into it tentatively. Dean's feelings were chaotic, jumbled thoughts and images, and it brought back to Castiel the heady rush of emotions and sensations that came with being human. As an angel, Castiel's thoughts were perfectly serene and clear, and the inside of his head was blessedly silent. It was one of the many advantages of not being human.

Dean was trying to picture his father's reaction if he found out he'd been fucked by a man ("or an angel in a man-suit, whatever"), which Castiel thought was an odd thing to think about since John Winchester was irreversibly dead. He was wondering if Samuel would feel somehow excluded. And he was suffering with some terrible half-recollected memories of fire and ash, which was usually under the surface of whatever Dean was thinking at any time. But he wasn't thinking of the actual idea with any kind of revulsion; he wasn't thinking about himself at all.

But somewhere deep in the rubble, Castiel thought could find the faintest stirring of curiousity.

"Let me," he said.

_On the other hand_, Dean was thinking, _fair's fair, and he did it for me first_. And of everything, _that _was the one thought that sunk into his mind.

"Dean," said Castiel, with as little tenderness as he could manage, considering how strongly he felt the emotion; he knew Dean wouldn't respond to it, couldn't comprehend it, didn't believe that he could deserve it. "I understand now, why it had to happen this way – why my Father made me like a human, so that I was able to give myself to you first. Now I understand what it's like for you, you little humans." Beneath his hand, Dean growled, but the angel kept talking. "I could easily have been too rough with you, but now I have perfect – empathy. I will make it so good for you."

"Nobody's doubting your prowess here, dude," said Dean.

"Let me," Castiel repeated. "Please, Dean. Let me show you."

Dean groaned, covered his eyes with his forearm and dropped back against the mattress. "Damnit, Cas!" He was silent. _Fair's fair. _"Alright. God, alright. Just - no angel mojo, okay?"

Castiel knew he still feared being coerced. Instead of answering, he leaned forwards and pressed light, sucking kisses along the line of Dean's neck. Dean tasted sweaty … he needed a shower. It didn't bother Castiel, not even the taste of grit on his skin.

Dean shivered, tilting his head to give better access. "How do I let you talk me into this stuff?"

Castiel leaned over where he rested against the headboard, his lips close to Dean's ear. "I'm beginning to think your protests are specious," he said. He was glad he was a full angel for this part, because angels didn't feel physical sensation near so strongly, so distinctly as a human. Sensory information was relayed indirectly, detectible but not overwhelming. That would make it easier for Castiel to be a good partner.

Jimmy's body was back under perfect control, so it wouldn't surprise him with things like hormones and that inexplicable, unavoidable neediness. But he could give himself an erection when he wanted to, by redirecting Jimmy's blood to the penis. The body obeyed him perfectly, and Castiel was satisfied with the rock-hard erection that resulted. He was confident that he could maintain it for as long as it was required for Dean's pleasure.

Dean was sliding his hands up Castiel's sides, over his shirt. Although it wasn't strictly necessary, Castiel knew that baring the body was part of the ritual, so he removed most of his clothing with a thought, leaving himself in only the boxer shorts.

Dean hesitated, hands on his belt buckle. "Is there any chance you can act less like this is some kind of creepy magic spell?" he asked. "I don't want to hear any chanted monosyllables and absolutely no lighting anything on fire."

"Yes Dean," said Castiel.

Finally Dean slid out of his pants, hissing a little as the movement pulled on his wounded shoulder. "Would you like any more pills?" asked Castiel politely.

"Uh, I know angels don't have to worry about this kind of thing, but opiates tend to mess with Mr. Happy," said Dean drily.

"You are referring to your penis," said Castiel.

Dean sighed. "C'mon over here, Cas, I'm getting cold," he said.

Castiel returned willingly, secretly wishing to initiate kissing but not sure how to go about it. He placed his head close to Dean's, on the off chance that Dean might wish to initiate such a thing, but Dean was looking down at their bodies. "Alright," he said, "guess we better get this show on the road, then."

Castiel had the distinct impression that Dean was humoring him, and he found it – irritating. This sexing was supposed to be for Dean's benefit; it wasn't as though angels were even capable of properly enjoying sex. Rather than responding, he transported them both directly to the bathroom.

"Warn a guy!" Dean yelped. He looked around. "Uh, Cas, what are we doing in the john?"

"The sink is a good height for our respective body sizes," Castiel explained. "And it will be best for your shoulder."

"Is that Angel for 'bend over'?" asked Dean, staring at the sink.

"You said this was the best position," said Castiel calmly. "It will be the easiest for you."

"Right, then." But Dean didn't move. One of his hands rested uncertainly at the waistband of his boxers, but he made no motion to remove them.

"Dean," said Castiel.

Dean looked over at him. "What? I'm … working up to it."

"This isn't about – domination," said Castiel carefully. "I want this to be enjoyable for you." He could remember the human need for reassurance, even if he didn't remember exactly how it all worked.

"I know," said Dean, but he was still looking at the sink. Castiel chanced another look into Dean's mind and found him thinking: _This is what it will be like, when Michael rides me into Hell. _The thought was so unexpected that Castiel jerked out of Dean's head, and looked at him, unblinking.

Castiel didn't want him to think those things tonight.

"Dean …" he said. Then he stopped, not sure what to say or do. Castiel had enjoyed being fucked, and he wanted Dean to enjoy it too, but he remembered that the sensations were overwhelming and the emotional responses could interfere with the pleasure. He was very concerned with helping Dean enjoy himself as much as possible, which meant he had to relax and trust Castiel. He anticipated that this might be a little difficult for Dean to do.

"Here," he said, finally, taking Dean's hand. Maybe he wasn't exactly sure how to be reassuring, but there was a shower in the bathroom, and humans liked showers – he had often noted this when he observed them. And Dean frequently enjoyed them in a sexual way, too. Castiel didn't know if it was the warm water or the sound that was soothing, but he was confident that it would help Dean relax.

He turned on the water with a glance at the showerhead, and then he used his grace to bring it instantly to the right temperature. It would never turn cold or vary by even a degree. "Come along, Dean."

Dean slipped out of his clothes and followed him under the water, sighing in pleasure as he stepped under the stream. Castiel watched the drain fill with dirt and blood. Dean pulled the dressing away from his shoulder and let it fall in a sodden pile, scrubbing at the wound with the bar of soap until the water ran clear.

"This was a – good idea?" asked Castiel cautiously.

Dean slid his arm around Castiel's waist and tugged him closer, so they both stood under the water. "Great idea," he said. The sensation of liquid streaming over his head was … unpleasant. It dripped into his eyes. Humans were very strange.

"That is good," said Castiel, quietly. He looked into Dean's smiling face and wished again that he knew how to initiate the kissing.

"I guess angels don't really get dirty, huh?"

"Not beyond the spiritual sense, no." Dean rubbed sudsy hands over his short hair, then playfully mussed Castiel's hair as well. Perhaps this human joviality was an indication that he desired further physical contact?

"Would you like to make the sex now?"

"Have sex, Cas. The expression is _have sex_. Or make … make love." Dean looked away. "And, uh, sure, I'll have the sex with you now, I guess."

"I am happy to hear that," said Castiel. Carefully he stretched up on his bare feet so their faces were close together. But he didn't bring them any closer. "Would you like to lean against the wall, Dean? That is usually the preferred position in these circumstances."

"You don't watch humans get their moves on," said Dean, suspiciously, turning slowly so that his back was to Castiel. "Right, Cas? Like, you don't watch _me_, do you? Cas?"

"You probably shouldn't distract me right now," said Castiel, "I've never done this before." He brought his body up close against Dean's.

"Not exactly the answer I was looking for," Dean said. He was slippery in the water, his hair slicked back, sleek and seal-like. Castiel reached an imperious hand to press him lower against the wall, positioning him more satisfactorily.

Dean took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. He could do this. He was used to pain, heck, he had once been torn to pieces and dragged down to hell, this was nothing he couldn't handle. He un-tensed slowly and kept his position, white-knuckled against the tile.

Cas pushed one finger right up into him, and Dean felt his body swallowing it down easily. He groaned and willed himself to accept it, to keep his muscles nice and loose. Took some deep breaths, even if it felt wrong to use his father's relaxation techniques for this.

"Dean," said Castiel, pulling to a stop.

"What?"

"Dean, you know I will stop if you want me to."

"Yeah, I – I know you would."

Castiel sighed. "It's alright, Dean. I'm not going to hurt you."

"I'm not a pussy! I can take it! Just go."

He felt Castiel press forward, and thought, _shit, no lube, _almost said something, but he didn't. Dean grunted, his whole body tightening around the point of pressure. _Just get through this_, he reminded himself. _He can't last long_. This thought made him smile, just a little. Then he felt Cas slip further into him and he bit down on his bottom lip, hard.

"Tell me to stop," said Cas. "Tell me, and I will." But Dean couldn't, just as Cas knew he couldn't.

It felt … strange. Not too bad – a little like taking a crap, but in reverse. Dean had gone through worse. And Cas felt kind of good, keeping him still, hands tight on Dean's hips and _immovable_ behind him. The water seemed to stream around them without hitting, and he wondered if Cas was doing it. Probably. The steam was still nice.

Cas reached around and started jacking him off at the root, hard, no lube, and it hurt – _God_ – but it felt so good, too. He didn't rub the slit or cradle his balls or anything else Dean liked, just kept that firm grip at the root of him and rubbed hard enough to probably leave a mark.

"This way," said Cas over the sound of the shower, "because this is how you want it to be."

Despite what he'd promised, Castiel did used a little 'mojo' to ease himself into Dean, making himself a little easier to accept; but he had created this body, and he knew what it needed.

"Alright, Dean?"

"Move," said Dean. "Move, fuck."

He pulled his human up into a better position and began to move, slowly and steadily. "Dude, could I _be_ any more of the girl in this situation?" Dean complained, hesitantly shifting his weight. Castiel kept his thrusts even and let him mouth off, knowing it was Dean's way of dealing with emotions.

He sped up but kept perfect time, mechanically precise, and Dean was too embarrassed to say the things he would like to say, words like _please_ and _more_ and _yes_, and maybe _Cas, Cas, Cas_ – they were trapped behind his throat, cut off from the air, so he just tried to keep quiet.

"I hear you, Dean," said Cas.

Then he pressed in harder, deeper, and Dean grunted and gasped as he picked up the pace, hitting the same place over and over. And after that there was only white-hot pleasure and the pounding of the water, and Dean's jumbled thought that he was coming in a rush, like he had fucking struck oil.

Of course Castiel no longer needed to ejaculate, but he knew that Dean wouldn't enjoy himself if he didn't think his partner had found release. So he opened the vas deferens and pushed Jimmy's seed out through the tip of his cock, and he felt deep satisfaction, not the way it had felt as a human, but something calmer and more certain, like the last tumbler of a lock falling into place.

Then he settled himself over the length of Dean's back, remembering from when he was human how he important it had been to feel safe and protected after sex. He stroked Dean's flanks as he came down from his orgasm, listening to his panting breaths slowly start to taper off.

Then they stood together under the streaming water, until finally Castiel twisted his fingers and shut it off.

"God, Cas," said Dean, and Castiel couldn't think of anything else to add.

He knew that this was probably the last time he would be able to be with Dean in this way. It was different, for both of them, when he was an angel. And despite his still-waning powers, he didn't plan on being anything close to human ever again. He would find his Father and prevent the apocalypse, and Dean would never have to fight either of their brothers.

"I know what you're thinking," said Dean, stepping slowly away for him and reaching for one of the thin, scratchy towels. "You have to go."

Castiel pressed their lips together finally, just the faintest brush of pressure, and then withdrew. "Yes," he said. "But I will come back. I will always come back."

Dean grabbed him by the shoulders, which were suddenly redressed and dry, and kissed him, hard and fierce, leaving hand-shaped water marks on the pristine fabric. "You'd better," he said.

Castiel nodded gravely, and in the beat between the blink of a human eye, he was gone.

Alone in a bathroom full of steam, Dean stretched slowly and shook his head. "Angels," he said.

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**The End**

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_A/N: You can find more Supernatural fics at my livejournal, _coragyps(dot)livejournal(dot)com


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